


You Will Come With Me

by whyyesitscar



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Brittany and Santana love about each other, in three tiny vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Will Come With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Amanda Palmer had this thing where you could order personalized Christmas cards. So I ordered one for myself and asked for some of her favorite words. (I bet you can't guess which three words they are). And then they started churning ideas in my mind and there was a Pablo Neruda anthology sitting right next to my desk and I thought, "Yes. Good. How can I combine these with Brittana?" And thus this odd little story was born. I figure we could all use some Brittana fluff right about now.
> 
> The poems, all by Neruda, are as follows:
> 
> title/stanza at the beginning: the mountain and the river  
> less: in you the earth  
> wait: you would come  
> listen: the queen

> _"Oh you, the one I love,_  
>  _little one, red grain_  
>  _of wheat,_  
>  _the struggle will be hard,_  
>  _life will be hard,_  
>  _but you will come with me."_

**i. less**

( _in love you have loosened yourself like seawater_ )

Like gold, one carat stretched as far as it can go—and then a little bit farther than that, just for her.

Buttermilk in the spring; the summer—light brown sugar that has been baked to a perfect crisp. The autumn, melting marshmallows. In winter she brings the moon.

It’s the eyes she can’t always get. The sky, the ocean, Crayola colors like robin’s egg and cerulean and azure. Colors she could identify at six but didn’t understand until Brittany.

Sometimes she thinks she should find newer, better, more vivid words. Every day her feelings just keep getting newer and better and more vivid, so.

But the ocean has blues they haven’t found yet, depths too deep to reach, and they’re all right there—waiting for her at night, resting on her chest, and all she has to do is look down.

/

**ii. wait**

( _you had to die and be born, I was waiting for you_ )

There’s this thing that Santana does a lot. She’s done it ever since we met about pretty much everything that matters.

She takes her time.

But like, she _really_ takes her time. When she was twelve, she could talk your ear off for hours on the phone about absolutely nothing in the world. And it was nice because I always had everything to say about it. But she always made me order the pizza because she got all sweaty and nervous when she tried, and I kept telling her that it was cute and I didn’t mind ordering the pizza, mostly because I think that there isn’t anything cuter than a cute Santana. Like, my brother, who’s really good at science and always tries to help me, he was telling me once about this thing called a gravitational singularity where gravity sort of becomes infinite. And I got confused because gravity is infinite already—like, it’s been here for millions of years and it’ll be here for millions more. But he said it wasn’t that kind of infinite because when gravity becomes infinite then the laws of the universe start to break down and that’s even worse. He was talking about black holes, how they’re these dead stars that just absorb everything they come into contact with, and if you went in far enough and hit the center, you’d find gravitational singularity. _Infinite density in an infinitely small volume, Britt,_ he’d said. Kind of like Mary Poppins’s bag, so I get it. Santana is kind of like that only with cuteness. She’s this tiny black ball and everyone knows to stay away from her, but they’re missing all the great stuff she’s got stored inside. She’s like the cuteness singularity.

Anyway, she started ordering pizzas when she turned fourteen, so maybe she’s not a black hole. Maybe she’s just a slingshot with a lot, _a lot_ of give.

(It was New Year’s Eve when she first ordered a pizza and I remember because she was terrible to the delivery boy and also because that was the first time she kissed me. _New Year, new Santana,_ she said, and I tried to kiss into her all of the words that said I liked the old Santana, too.

I think she heard me.)

I actually really like all the physics stuff that my brother studies, but we never get to talk about it in school. Teachers don’t really get how I can understand all these abstract topics but I can’t calculate acceleration to save my life. I just understand things better when you don’t try to define them.

I guess that’s why I always knew I’d end up with Santana. Because, you know, she has all this time on her hands and really there isn’t anything more abstract than that. It’s like, we’re the cat, time is the box, and I guess that would make Schrödinger God or something. Because time exists both outside of us and within the limits we place on it. I mean, if we weren’t here, it’s not like everything would happen at once. There just wouldn’t be anyone to quantify it.

Sometimes I wish Santana and I could exist outside of time so no one could quantify us, either.

Physicists don’t like the concept of infinity, but my brother’s the physicist, not me. Anyway, they still use it in all their mathematical equations because it’s easier. I think that’s kind of cheating because the universe isn’t easy. And like, maybe Santana and I can create an infinity of our own, but that wouldn’t be easy either. We’ve never been easy.

But we’ve always been forever. Maybe one day we’ll create our own gravitational singularity. I’ll be the infinite density and she can be the infinitely small volume and we’ll achieve perfection together.

/

**iii. listen**

( _only you and I, my love, listen to it_ )

Shakespeare wrote this whole poem once about how this lady was really ugly—she had bad teeth and frizzy hair and she smelled really bad. But he still thought she was beautiful because he was totally in love with her.

I guess people say that about us. We’re bitchy or dumb or hostile or flaky, and well, okay, I guess sometimes we are.

But the best way to explain us is that we belong to each other, so who really cares about all that other stuff?

(Besides, we’re both totally hot anyway, so Shakespeare doesn’t really know what he’s talking about.)

I heard somebody say once that love has its own language. I don’t really think that’s true.

I just think you need to find the right person, the kind who actually pays attention to your words and not just what you’re saying.

Anyway, the word I always understand the most isn’t even one that either of us say. But it’s in our eyes, in our lips, in our fingertips and knees, and it’s my favorite word.

(Mine.)


End file.
